


The Right Thing

by papercrimes



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternative Scene, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercrimes/pseuds/papercrimes
Summary: Fin has stood where she's standing now. Difference being, things changed him along the way. [Scene-swap for No Surrender; Fin convinces Williams to testify instead. Background Munch/Fin.]





	

"You know that piece of crap could get away with this."

As far as ice-breakers go, Fin's aware it's more belligerent than whatever else he could've said. But walking in silence through Fort Hamilton won't get them anywhere either, nostalgic as it is.

It's a trip down memory lane to be back in army territory. Whether or not the trip is a good one, he can't decide.

Captain Williams is stiff as ever beside him, and her refusal to acknowledge him by turning her head makes him briefly wonder if she even heard him. Though he used to walk like that, once. Guarded inside and out.

"I have a reputation to protect," Williams finally says, still without looking his way. "Not for myself, but for far more important causes."

"I understand that," Fin says, reflexively.

He can almost hear Liv's unnecessary reminders in his ear— _reassure her that it's not her fault, Fin_ —as his gut tells him that would be inapplicable here. Not because he thinks Williams is to blame, but because he knows she isn't ready to accept that yet.

"I understand how you _feel_ ," he goes on. "The fact is, we can't change what he did to you. If you don't testify, he could do it again. You have the power to stop that."

"I didn't stop him before," Williams says, curtly. Common survivor rhetoric, even if she's coming from a different place; Fin recognises that wavelength because he's operated on it before. Knew it intimately, took years to unlearn it.

Williams finally glances at him. It's no surprise she's opting to acknowledge him now, either. There is contempt in the way she watches him, yet not for him; it's reserved purely for herself, and scathing navel-gazing is the next thing to leave her lips—how the _courageous role-model_ she's meant to be is an image built on false foundations.

Their situations are worlds apart, but this brand of self-loathing is familiar to Fin. Feeling lesser, somehow, in the face of external circumstances that couldn't possibly be blamed on them.

He slips his hands into his pockets, the perfect picture of nonchalance as he lets Williams' words wash over him. Attentive and open, with no interest in delivering platitudes. He's never been able to play the game like Liv, to know the right things to say when he could just be frank instead.

And he knows the Captain's type enough to feel confident it's honesty she wants.

"You think it's easy for anyone to testify against their abuser?" he asks, once she falls back into silent step. "All my years on the job, I've never seen a victim who didn't have second thoughts about speaking out."

"That isn't the problem," Williams says. Fin is quick to interject.

"I _know_ the problem. Believe me. I've been where you are, thinking there's some kinda _right_ way to be a hero. Like you have to keep earning that title."

"You don't understand." Williams almost sounds incensed. In the past thirty seconds, she's displayed the most emotion he's seen from her over the course of this conversation. "It was different for me. I must continue to prove myself. It's necessary."

It's Fin's turn to glance at her, only to raise a brow. "You think it wasn't for me?"

Because sure—in an ideal world, a black ranger walking with a female one wouldn't be such a goddamn _novelty_. At least Williams seems to get it, now. Though she inhales like she intends to speak, all she does is purse her lips.

So Fin keeps talking. He looks straight ahead, affording her the courtesy of removing any pretence of forming a connection, some kind of feel-good factor amidst all the bullshit. Williams isn't that type, and neither is he, not really.

"There's no _right_ way to do anything, Captain. I learned that too late, but you're still the person everyone thinks you are." He pauses. "That's how I know that if you get on that stand, we'll nail the guy."

Williams comes to a halt. Fin does, too, turning just enough to face her.

"My name," she says. "If I testify, it will be associated with _this_."

"Maybe," Fin says; the truth is the least she deserves. "But someone like you, speaking out where so many don't even get that chance... Sounds heroic to me."

Williams narrows her eyes at him, her jaw tightening. Whatever she wants to say brews in acid on her tongue and Fin is ready to accept it. If taking it out on him makes her feel better—well, that's his job.

There's more than gender politics at work here, because Fin recognises every flash of emotion across Williams' face. He's felt them all, at some point or other.

A soldier shouldn't let his partner get shot, and a soldier shouldn't be unable to connect with his own damn son—and a soldier certainly shouldn't fall for his _very male_ brother in arms. It's absurd to Fin that he ever looked upon those as failures when it's so clear to him now that they _made_ him, shaped something that was never perfect to begin with, something that never will be.

He faces every day for his old partner's sake, for Ken, for _John_. If there's no correct way to do anything, he's pretty sure that what he's doing is good enough.

Finally, Williams gives it up: the real bubbling concern that's been ingrained in her since she enlisted. Her mouth twists, briefly, before she utters it.

"How can you be sure the public will see it like that?"

"Some of them won't," Fin says. The dirty little secret of the job. "Minds only change with time. Someone has to be the _first_. Can't think of a better candidate for that than you."

Williams softens. Her shoulders sink, only fractionally; it's enough for Fin to know he's tapped into what she really needed. What she's grown accustomed to seeking out: a superior's approval.

Fin's done that, bought the overpriced shirt. He thinks about who's waiting for him at home, and he thinks about how _difficult_ it was to build a home like his in the first place—all the while aware that the Captain's eyes are lingering on him, expecting a life's worth of experience condensed into a single soundbite.

It's so _cheesy_ , he knows, something John will probably find real funny when he recounts this anecdote later, but there's only one thing he _can_ offer.

"You know the motto," Fin goes on, with a wry little smile. Hating himself for being soft enough now to dredge up sentimentality after all—and at peace with it, with who he is now, a lifetime away from these military bases. "Rangers lead the way."


End file.
